"regurgitate" poems
I think it's crazy that they want me to type an essay over deforestation for a score or practice or to better my writing. That's 60 more minutes I'm wasting of my life. They say that sooner or later everything we do we will do with technology. So here I am now writing this essay that's supposed to be about deforestation and the effects and consequences. We are not discussing the issue. We are sitting in wooden chairs with our computers sitting on our wooden desks surrounded by wooden bookcases. So much irony right? I seem to be the only one to notice anyways.
We come here seven hours a day, do hours of homework, "study" the information, aka memorize regurgitate then forget all of it. This is not teaching us. We are not learning anything useful to help us live. It's all numbers and words that do not matter to me.
If anyone thinks that all us kids come to school to learn they're wrong and if they think that the teachers come to teach they're even more wrong. We come to pass class after class so we can leave and actually make something of ourselves. The teachers come because they have to for the money. They do not care about us or our feelings. They put all this pressure on us to be the best we can be which really means make a good grade.
I've been silent for so long now. Not expressing my feelings towards much of anything. Also toward the reason I have to wake up at five every morning to be around people I do not even like.
I feel as though the education system is unfair and cruel and does not take into consideration what the kids who go through this cycle everyday think.
So that's what I think about deforestation.
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 9:20 PM UTC
We live in a world filled with stereotypes.
Stereotypes that make us ashamed of who we are.
There’s a woman in my neighborhood who wears tight clothing and high heel shoes but that doesn’t mean she’s a ******
There’s a boy in my class who listens to rap music and wears baggy clothes, but that doesn’t mean he’s out on the street selling dope.
There’s a girl in my class who rarely says to words and get’s straight A’s, but that doesn’t mean she’s a goody goody.
People ask us all the time of who we think we are,
but it doesn’t matter to them because before we can even digest the question and regurgitate the answer they have already made their mind up of who they think we are.
Some people are considered a brain.
Some a trouble maker
or a ****
A princess
or a ******
But the truth is we are all smart, just in different ways.
Everyone of us has some athleticism in us.
Everyone one has gotten into some trouble.
We have all had are princess or prince moments.
And everyone of us is weird,
some people are just better at hiding in it.
You remember my neighbor I told you about?
She dresses like that, not because she is trying to sell herself
but because when she was younger she got bullied and no one ever noticed her because she never had designer clothes because her mother had no job and her father left when she was 4. And ever since then she made herself a promise that she would make sure people noticed her.
And that boy with the baggy clothes?
He wears those baggy clothes to cover up the cuts and bruises his father comes home from the and had one to many drinks.
And the girl who get’s straight A’s and doesn’t say much?
She get’s those straight A’s because if she doesn’t she gets a straight hand across the face and she doesn’t talk because she has sever anxiety.
So the next time you point and laugh at someone remember that they’re 3 fingers pointing back at you.
And the next time you assume something about something remember that when yo assume yo make an *** out of U and ME.
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 4:46 PM UTC
the frustration I had
after failing
to bring myself to ******
for the
tenth
time this past week
makes me more
furious
than depressed
seriously
my *** drive
has always been high
as soon as I
got over
the shame
society places on women
for enjoying
their sexuality
I have always used
************
as a release
relieves
stress
leaves me
relaxed
and
content
or should I say,
left me
feeling that way
usually
it was once a day
fairly frequent
but, it
matched
my *** drive's
needs
what the **** is wrong with me
I have tried
imagining,
watching,
reading,
looking at
every form
of erotica
that exists
I have searched
through everything
I can find
from
****
******
stories,
comics
and my search history
will let you know
that I've searched
everything
from
****
to
******
to
interracial lesbian forced *******
and things
worse
than that
e v e r y t h i n g
used to take me,
oh, I dunno
maybe three minutes
with my ********
after
around an hour
is when I give up
now
I even bought
a different
********
NO
RELEASE
NO
PASSION
GONE
what is
WRONG
WITH
ME
oh yeah -
depression
I mean
I knew it was bad
when video games
no longer
had appeal
that was enough
games
have been a passion
and a hobby of mine
since I was five
the other hobby
I started a bit older than five
but
you stole that one, too
after depression
beat the **** out of me
on Tuesday
I thought that was it
thought
since the next morning
I awoke
without the urge
to **** myself
it was over
nope
you have robbed me
of the simplest
things
in my life
that give me pleasure
no more
wriggling
moaning
spasming
the tingling
sensation
that starts in my toes
and makes its way
up
the length of my body
the warmness
that follows
with it
the
satisfaction
slight smile
snuggly
sleepy
post ****** me
I miss her
give her
back
I miss my life
give it
back
this isn't
ME
for ***** sake!
I am a ******
witty
humorous creature
full of passion
looking
for opportunities
to get myself off!
not this
depressed
apathetic
vessel
without soul.
you won't stop
until you have
everything
in my life
you won't stop
until you
put
my soul in your mouth
chew
grind
crush it
your saliva
breaks me down
spit me out
please
I am fighting
for you to cough me up
regurgitate
the essence
of me
let me put myself
back inside this body
please
please
no
you won't stop
you will eat my soul
until
ever fiber
protein
ounce of health
I had
is now
inside of you,
depression
cold-hearted *****
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 6:10 AM UTC
if "you are what you eat"
was true
i would help myself
to a bouquet of sunflowers
everyday,
because
i want to learn how to shine
like the street light
outside my bedroom window
i'd line my stomach
with old leonard cohen records
so i could sing all my "i love you"'s
i would stuff my face
with the pages of your favourite book
so i could regurgitate the words
you love so much
whisper them in your ear
while you sleep
i'd take a bite
out of an oak tree
cut me in half
& count my rings
there are so many things
i wish i were
i am not graceful
i'd like to make a toast
to every day that i haven't fallen down
or slipped
or tripped
on my words
see, i am full of mistakes
i never learned
how to ride a bike
god, my parents really tried
but the ground was so unforgiving
& i was too afraid of falling
now,
i would eat those training wheels
so i could keep my balance
walk in a straight line
i'd swallow my watch
so i'm always on time
don't be surprised
if you see me
tucking into those sunflowers
please,
come & bask
in my rays.
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 6:02 PM UTC
the world sits on the wing of a dove
being swallowed whole by a fiery goddess
descended from heaven on a chariot of ivy
i am incarcerated by shaking flesh and itching cloth
the road before me is giant and knows no bounds
the graveyard is warm and wet with spirits and dew
and red clouds are born from fire in the dawn
there is an intelligent horse being ridden by a snarling insect
and this man has come to claim our souls
our sunset blood burns boils blisters until a million animals wounded
i'm still alive, transfigure me into a creator
choke up my nostrils with the scent of your ***
invade my lungs with the burn of your god
caress my toungue with the infinite promise
enter my brain from above, and regurgitate your anxiety on me
slimy worms devour a psychadelic tomato laughing
into transendency, an eyeless eel has dissappeared into a pocket
i speak from balconies, from terrible heights, from hastened windowsills
in a million desperate quarrelling cities
this is where i **** up illusion, i give up to despondency
i ring the great iron bell that resounds with corruption, with hatred, with hideous *** and admiration,
i scream and cavort on rooftops alone with a black & blue midnight
covered in electric lights and gunpowder tongues
here comes the disintegration of my mind
disgraced by the eye of the earth and spat into
a realm of salivating light
i am swimming through digested heartbreak and melancholy livers
sickened by madness and homemade bombs and ******
the rainclouds carry a truckload of babies' hearts
and it's raining eyes over the city now
the cry of the mind escapes from waving mouths in impotence
as millions of bacteria invade the brain
may these lines be answered by the bird of the sun
by the worm at my ear
by the sight of my skeleton
by the stench of ***** in the air
by the dead gong shivering through midnight
by the bleeding eye of abandoned dreams
by the prophets in proclamation
by the god of all my sorrows
Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 9:55 PM UTC
It's not the warmth of your touch that makes me cringe
It's the underlying intimacy of it all
The dormant passion that lies beneath your fingertips
And it's not loving you that gives my bones goosebumps
It's the silkiness of your voice when you first utter sentimentality
And the flash of disappointment that dawns upon your face when I don't immediately regurgitate your emotions
But everyone I've ever known had to learn to crawl before they could walk
So would you mind terribly if I just held your hand for now?
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 5:28 PM UTC
60 sunshines, 59 nightfalls till I face the day
40 topics held in to regurgitate,
**** and span for the marker man to give a brother a break.
Wait, I ain't done
Got anxiety about two more chores in head
Not to ***** and moan but *******
Getting tired of this ****
What's the point to push if you don't know where to go
Blindful blissful ignorance?
They say, and you go.
What subject?
What ever is most respected.
What job?
What ever brings financial comfort.
What about this?
Nah, you ain't good at that.
And so you sulk ever so distracted
Hearing the drip drop taps, splat on to the sink.
The metallic ting of the radiator reverberates as dormant inner silence sings.
Forever more.
A didactic sore for the ears,
Apologies in advance,
Though regardless you must hear it.
Never run to please others
Rather, focus and listen to the deep.
Dec 10, 2017
Dec 10, 2017 at 3:15 PM UTC
We are manufactured landscapes,
constructed through naming nouns –
we celebrate difference.
We are compelled into being one or the other,
like a nail or a hammer.
We reference nature through motherhood,
voluptuous in her national pride narrative,
her lips red pucker supple metaphors like her fertile ground,
her belly always pregnant
ready to plant desire in discourse.
We forget her industrial miscarriages,
her toxic tar-sulfur consumption,
her global half-bred garbage in words left unsaid,
her ***** laundry in patriarchal hands.
We forget her midwives,
her toiling underpaid workers
who support generations of waste
who spit up truth in plastic mouthfuls,
who regurgitate material narratives
to celebrate flesh in mythic wholeness.
When will the nation, earth and world step from its subject of motherly pedestal and name its androgynous existence, its forgotten lifelines?
Apr 27, 2011
Apr 27, 2011 at 12:38 PM UTC
Ah! how the memory of
those pretty green eyes
enlighten my senses
making them parallel to
round ***** of safety.
Ah! how those eyes
regurgitate and bounce
pupils widening whenever
my eyes meet their gaze
wavering and moving from
person to person in an intimate crowded group setting.
Ah! how those eyes
which resemble soft moss
or the slick flesh of kiwis
stare at mine catching like how
flypaper catches mosquitoes
accidentally but intentionally
awkwardly but inventively
and ultimately intentionally.
Ah! how the memory of
those pretty green eyes
throw me off balance
when they lock into mine
and for a good ten seconds
merging a little too long
unnoticed by the crowd.
Ah! how those eyes
are like ghosts in my
memories so valid and
plausible they seem to
drift yet knowing they
will be seen tonight
creates a fidgety hope
splintered and shaking
within this hubris heart.
Ah! how those eyes
are framed by the
curliest of lashes
so cute they bloom
ripe smiles within this
here empty chest cavity
which seems to be defeated
at the moment but somehow
waiting to witness
orbs of stegosaurus skin
shelled and shellacked and unbuckled am i
at just a smack.
Ah! how those eyes
are like a slap
to my psyche.
Every part a swirling mass
of unabridged uncertainty.
And no matter how it seems
those irises of gold and green
will always be downright dainty.
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 2:16 PM UTC
in a dark of frenzy it boils up inside
until summarily and inexplicably
see the colour between brown and blue
more than see it, immerse myself in it
swimming slowly in its clouds
see the colour between brown and blue
everywhere votive candles light
the colour between brown and blue
with slender tapers that touch a life
any life, your life
casting strange shadows, loose shadows
between the colour of brown and blue
children swarm, children with bright white
starvation hair, children with hands
like small worn mittens
who raise red swarms in hot worn out
death laden dust
dust that cauterizes the nostrils
with the stench of penurious insanity
the colour between brown and blue
that inveigles a purchase of flies
bottle blue, black blue, green blue,
swarming blue, swirling whirling blue
a black and blue confetti of flies
then the sudden zero of the
colour between brown and blue
hair raising, command faith
willed, willing, mumbling, murmuring
the excitement of writing between
the colour of brown and blue
trees shake and tremble
words regurgitate themselves like hot
food, the bark, write
now fully electrically charged
seized by the colour between brown and blue
forget everything else, write, write more, more, write
trembling with sudden shudders of merciless
vowels, madness penurious pencil
moves across, demanding paper
pushing worn words, worthy words whittled by use
words not yet written, words of wonder
oh what words
beautiful, baffling,baleful, words
with beastly beatitudes, words that conjure the mind
words between brown and blue
that leave you skinny like a stray dog
words so demanding leave you shut up in an
airless abattoir of high energy and low residue
the colour between brown and blue
where everywhere is everywhere else
touched by the flames of the colour between brown and blue
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 11:01 PM UTC
A shroud that blooms a single bud,
Blossomed at the peak of perfection,
Piercing eyes of those who dare to behold-
Taking trance to those of hereafter.
She waits to vicariously live through another,
By piercing one with her sharp thorns,
A trickle of blood released from her holder,
Captivates her swooning love.
Fooling the world with her perfume.
It covers her stain.
Truly a lifeless child with a brown core
Rotting out the ends of her teeth,
Cracks at the seams that should be mended;
Should be stitched
perfectly.
Instead lost in the intertwined lines-
withering from the inside.
Unable to grasp each end of the rope.
Never could weave the fabric with a still hand,
She
slips into Darkness.
Although she cast a tranquil shadow,
She fades into the background-
Slipping silent as her seems come undone.
Fooling the world with her transparent seal.
It covers her shame.
A single blossom that blooms in the spring,
And dies each night by the moonlight-
Howling outside to try and wake her inside.
To regurgitate her woven ends,
To seal the wound pried open by her past.
By her current death bed.
Sharpening her thorns for those who take hold,
Masquerading her disease-
black vessels rooted in deep soil-
Fooling the world with her beautiful petals.
Only she's to blame.
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 11:03 PM UTC
Simplicity in three little words
That I regurgitate so profusely
Words as free as soaring birds
Used by the brave and the mighty.
Three little words that two bodies would declare
Every so often when the heart so desires
Whispered lightly like the wind in your hair
Or shouted out loud like brimstone and fires.
These three little words shouldn't be taken very lightly
For in it lies the power to move, most regal a mountain
Squander not its meaning, until you have proven worthy
Misuse it not, until you've known for certain.
First word refers to the being of self
Third one suggests the existence of another
Middle binds the two like nails to a shelf
Middle defines the two as they're made for each other.
I've used these words many a time in the past
Then I know not, of it's sacred binding potency
I've learnt now through time that they would last
I've learnt this through a hidden path of discovery.
Now it's value stares me right in the eyes
Piercing through my mind, body and heart
Baring itself, shedding it's cloak of disguise
First time in my life, I saw a brand new start.
I am neither brave, nor am I mighty
I have felt it so great, I know it to be true
These words resonate with conviction within me
Clear echoes from my heart, it said, "I love you".
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 5:17 AM UTC
*we are witness to atrocities
committed by regime
over its peoples
over time*
1.
we are witness..
shattering glass of reality arranged into chosen shard-feeds
like omni-gov surveillance into meticulous mind-grafts
spluttering eternal-stats for public mind control
spewing mini-truths of perpetual war raids
disillusionment of history forever rewritten
control supply-and-demand
create dark-cloaked dilemma and monitor shortage and famine
make-believe elements so well played to auto-frenzied latch
thinking is degraded and actions.. well, less said
2.
diligent and loyal yet harbour secret-hatred
feed visions stilted by politrix
deception and manipulation
propaganda is the oleaginous-game by wand-over-mind
totalitarian is the kingpin-holder of cards
and yet, who is really being played!
eternal marionettes on a conveyor-belt
can't even play with yourself alone
your **** your **** your every move..
watched - surveyed - and studied
by that ubiquitous-bulge eye you cannot escape
right opposite your low hard-bed
you're broken into popping-parts
that YOU won't recognise!
thoughtcrime-police is gonna accost ya
get up, comrade.. get UUUUUUUUP!
3.
we are witness
life-tube covered in darkened vapour-swirls
we are witness
children conditioned to watch their parents.. too closely
we are witness
truth so smothered, now re-fed by repeat-metaphor
we are witness
dictata.. dictata..
we are witness
austere existence in a tacky one-room flat
we are witness
subsist on black-wheat and imitation-repast
we are witness
regurgitate the party-dialect on and on and on
(after a while, we end up half-believing.. )
*only the clock which strikes thirteen
can smell the charred-reality
as leftover-truth is shoved
into incendiary obsolescence*
tick-a-damn-tock
and that would be..
one
S T - 26 sept
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 11:53 AM UTC
You probably wonder
Why I keep telling you
How bad of a person I am
I'm just waiting for you to finally figure it out
And realize that I am poison
Of the very worst kind
And that not even ipecac can help you
When you try to regurgitate
All memories of me
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 1:26 PM UTC
waiting in a white room with no furniture
the humming air conditioner
can’t even drown out my thoughts
waiting to go back to maryland
for a hyperbolic death sentence—
to meet with the wonderful hypocrites
who shaped my cynicism
and anxiety
to feast on the last meal
of failure.
waiting to hear back from potential employers
who hold my future in their hands
but prefer to let me stew
waiting for the tears to start falling
I can feel my eyes welling
my lungs lugging every last bit of air
to my heart as it pounds
like an urgent knock at the door
waiting alone
with just my thoughts.
waiting to see the friends
who never got out to see the world
to look at me with delight, hoping
soon I will re-join their ranks
as a mindless tractor mechanic or slurpee filler
waiting for the cheap bottle whisky
in my stomach to regurgitate
waiting for numbing conversations
about menial tasks and news
like the weather, or something else I can see in front of me.
waiting to be coma.
waiting to see my reflection—
or shadow.
waiting for paper and pen,
waiting for suicide by rhyme at the end.
Oct 30, 2011
Oct 30, 2011 at 8:10 AM UTC
I fear not a thing in this room; world; vast. A path as wide as Earth-
I have none other to follow. Why should
I find myself ravingly inclined to throw this bucket into the ocean,
haul it back in until my palms bleed and with the intent of an excited madman
drink it all until I regurgitate shards of broken dream, regrets and utter salt.
I have listed all my achievements, all the houses I built, all the cast-iron-flame-retardant-
bridges I sat ablaze without a shrug; floating away into the air-waving
|new-life-death-the-universe-and-everything|
fumes of a well-played Molotow Coctail. I fear not a thing in this room.
When I die, I'll rest my cranial remains on a volume of pure epicity.
Loves and lovers won and mostly lost. Victories at high and lower cost.
Faces, sounds and scenes, more wild and blinding than I'd ever seen.
I cannot see in past or future anything considered missed.
No laugh withheld, no sin I felt I needed to resist.
It's only me: Little God. And I have come here to exist.
My diary. Is my Bucket List.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 8:23 AM UTC
What the Fisherman said:
"It seemed like a good idea."
What he did:
Went fishing in a rowboat
Out on the Sound
About a mile out
And seagulls all around.
What happened:
Seagulls came about
To see
If scavenge work
Was to be done.
Dipping in and out
And just above,
One had some fun.
Fisherman annoyed...
One plucky bird
Came close above his head
And closer,
'Til finally the fisher said,
"I think I could just
Reach right up
And grab his legs!"
And so he did....
Seagull's Reply:
Seagulls, shocked,
Regurgitate,
Explode,
Expectorate
Whatever they've been
Carrying inside.
Instead of Fight or Flight,
Seagulls puke;
They have no pride.
At least this one did
Not.
Fisherman's Response:
He didn't even know
When he let go...
First the gull,
And then his lunch.
The man and the bird shared
Something in common
Out on the Sound:
They met for lunch
And went away hungry.
Dec 2, 2011
Dec 2, 2011 at 10:46 AM UTC
Along a narrow, vacant street at 2 a.m.
Underneath the threatening lights of peril
An act of ******** was taking place between
A beautiful cigarette and the orifice of my lips
Halloween had not yet dawned upon us
Yet as I walk Jack-O-Lanterns smile at me
Displaying minor quakes of bloodthirsty evil
While a serum of scorn soaks my tongue
With a heartless trick of ice, cold malice
Summoning the entire town to its kneecaps
Devils regurgitate lullabies resembling the sound
Of nails ****** a chalkboard sparing no mercy
Arousing the hopeless romantics
To awaken a graveyard
And **** the corpses until they're
Resurrected from their comas
As the nymphomaniacs ice
Their frozen flesh with *****
Painting an ocean of abstract thoughts
Across the edges of their frames of mind
Do morticians make up the majority
Of necrophilia related crimes?
Maybe so but, I bet they had never felt
A ****** so dry and so cold
Yet still the thrill of chills tickle these criminal's spines
While they measure their screams careful not to awaken
The beautifully disgusting corpses that lie before them
They turn their heads only to find a pair of scarlet eyes
Gawking at them from within a cowardly shield of fear
Darkness was it's home, Mother to all its desires
In my opinion it was just a phase; A massacre encaged
Aug 25, 2011
Aug 25, 2011 at 4:12 AM UTC
the two-by-fours
we carved into a cabin
for smoking pipe tobacco
and living in the mountains
are now muddied
and strewn over the hill
with so many shotgun shells
and ceramic victims in tow;
are now collected
by sassed out teenagers
finding fuel to feed
cancer with smoke
and smoke with memory --
which they will regurgitate
to build their cabin
to smoke pipe tobacco
to live in the mountains,
until it burns down
as all things must.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 5:56 PM UTC
Eat your shame
It doesn’t go away
Regurgitate
like you’re overweight
You need more meat
on your body to hate
She promised to **** him off
in the parking lot
for her drink of choice
She was far too young
for either one
but had nothing left to lose
Swallow your pride
It doesn’t go down easy
Don’t let him see you
cringe in disgust
You need more secrets
to hate yourself for
Cut your skin
wide open
Underneath even you know
you’re worth more
It can only get better
and I don’t take it for granted
Uncomfortable in her skin
unless it was naked
No confidence in
a word she said
unless they were slurred
So she ate her shame
every ******* day
She swallowed her pride
and kept her promises
It all cut her skin wide open
Oct 18, 2023
Oct 18, 2023 at 2:33 PM UTC
*Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw*
I can read…donkey as I am,
I can read
Where did I learn to read?
they taught me at home,
they taught me at school
they taught me at the camps and retreats
and at all the Assemblies and Gatherings
and at various Thought Adjustment Programs
*Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw*
I can read…donkey as I am,
I can read and I can recite
They trained me well to recite
and to memorize and to regurgitate
and to repeat and repeat and repeat
at the Houses of Prayer
the Holy Ones stood before us
and they trained us, they drilled us
thousands and thousands of us
and millions and millions of us
and through years and years
and centuries and centuries
*Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw*
No variation, no change, just -
*Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw*
I can read, I can recite, I can repeat
they trained us well at Animal Farm –
word for word, repeat and repeat and repeat
and when in doubt, we have our Great Leaders
Pigs for Pigs, Goats for Goats, Turkeys for Turkeys
and Donkeys for Donkeys
who will speak for us
*Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw*
I can read, I can recite, I can repeat
so must you, if you should be pure,
if you should be saved
if you should see the Truth
*Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw*
I can read, I can recite, I can repeat
*Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw*
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 25, 2012 at 6:24 PM UTC
If you’re feeling sinister
Have your mom call the minister
Nail you to your splintered cross
Let him purify your thoughts
Regurgitate old bible verses
To further rid you of your curses
Leave your woes and your coven
Take your head out of the oven
Swear, kick, bite, and scream
Just like Linda on the screen
Put down your crucifix
Get off your cross of sticks
There are pills they can administer
If you’re feeling sinister
Florescent coats, fluorescent lighting
Padded walls to stop the fighting
You’re words and tasks become repetitive
You needed a stimulant, they gave you a sedative
Tell them the truth, they’ll correct it
You won't get better looking for an exit
So turn off the TV.
You with your poison-filled i.v.
Swap your identity
For some medical remedy
Don’t you know they’ll take you out of school
If you’re feeling a little cruel?
Keep your head down in the halls
Ignore the writing on the walls
Don’t listen to the slamming doors
They can’t live here anymore
No, the room hasn’t gotten colder
You’re just simply growing older
Ignore your phantom visitors
If you’re feeling sinister
Dec 7, 2024
Dec 7, 2024 at 7:07 PM UTC
a mother bird taking care
of her newly hatched fledgling,
raising her with love and regurgitation,
and a gentle, inevitable push out
of familiarity
everything the baby bird knew
shot up-away, as
she was thrown,
she threw herself,
and the earth pulled her
into a world of novelty and insanity
and energetic love of change.
the baby bird flies to
her young fledglings,
ready to love and regurgitate,
and gently push
with love in mind
and flight in sight.
Aug 1, 2010
Aug 1, 2010 at 10:29 PM UTC
currently wishing
my uber driver would shut the **** up for half a minute
I just want to listen
to Joy Division
in silence;
with nothing
but the pressure
of my inescapable apathy
please shut up;
I really don't care
that two children were hit
by a tractor trailer this morning,
only a bit jealous.
I never thought I'd meet
someone as lonely as me,
but the continual conversation
that you regurgitate
proves otherwise.
I wish I could be
taken out
by a tractor trailer -
at this point,
I'll settle for anything.
uh-huh
yeah
really
no way
I feel as though this trip
is a metaphor
for my waking life:
just a blur of scenery
flying by,
while a stranger
makes noises at my depression -
and I just,
uh-huh
yeah
really
no way
I hate how
I hate everything
hate
how lonely I am
how regardless
of who
surrounds me,
comforts me,
loves me,
I still feel like I'm alone
welcome to the void
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 11:55 PM UTC
my heart pounds
my butterflies rocket to the sky
my hormones are heightened
my throat constricts
how is it that i feel everything at once
delight.
contentment.
infatuation.
it feels surreal,
and it's all because of him.
the epitome of human art
i'm intrigued by every aspect,
every idiosyncrasy,
every flaw.
i want to be consumed by every part of him, to the brim.
i want to inhale the peace and serenity he brings,
i want to swallow his touch,
and never regurgitate,
i want to believe in the hope he's awakened in me.
i want, i want, i want.
but i fear.
fear the potential heartbreak,
the loss of excitement if he disappears,
i fear the depth of my emotions,
the abyss of "love" i always lurk on the edges of so idly
is it worth it?
to put all this power in his hands.
and in return,
shower him with the love my heart swells, threatening to burst, with,
and for once.
just once,
feel it back.
-v.la
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 1:07 AM UTC